Feeling sorry for her, he added half-heartedly, "But you're only thirty. And I wouldn't blame you.... Lot of people do, you know."
She leaned back, still in his arms, and laughed up at him. "No, I'll wait and break you down!"
"Even knowing what they're likely to do?"
"But surely! Then at least the temptation wouldn't be so handy!"
He walked rapidly toward the office. Other groups walked along talking and laughing. Here and there someone called to him.
He came to U.S. 75, a deserted graying eight lane strip. As he started across, a bike came over the rise and he dived into the ditch. But it was only a Catholic priest pedalling furiously along on a girl's bicycle. Then there had been another clash! He climbed out of the ditch, and walked a ways down the highway. There it was. The priest was just climbing off the bike, and there was a motorcycle cop.
Chuck Dane walked up the highway to the scene and stood watching. The priest was kneeling, his black bag open, administering last rites to the two youths.
The cop, fat and redfaced, came over and stood beside Chuck. "Two less Teenagers!" he grinned.
"Dying, eh?" Chuck asked.
"Dying or dead! These damn kids!" He said it with just a tinge of envy.